~ The Writings of S.L. Woodford

Tag Archives: technology

I couldn’t make up my mind about what to post this week. I was working on two different pieces: one about Daylight Savings Time and human mortality, the other about giving up the f-word for Lent (and failing horribly). But, I decided to take the advice of my homegirl Jane Austen and: “let other pens dwell on guilt and misery.” I’m not posting either. It’s been a long winter here in New England, and I need a proper giggle, heavily seasoned with joy and mirth. Perhaps you need that, too. And so, I humbly present you with a list of internet frivolity that never fails to make me laugh. Enjoy!

1. Jane Austen Fight Club

Things get real when teacups start to fly.

2. Your LL Bean Boyfriend

Okay, so this tumblr doesn’t make me laugh—but, handsome men, especially handsome men who are thoughtful and outdoorsy, always make me smile.

Gosh, I’ve been busy these past two weeks. And that business has everything to do with the start of another school year here in New Haven. Days have wildly tripped by, full of meeting new students, seeing old friends, and going to lots and lots of opening receptions. All glorious and exciting and new—but, slightly taxing to my introverted side. Which is why I made sure to skulk about my apartment last Saturday night and play video games.

Well, I guess I should say play a video game. Because there is only one I ever play with a certain amount of frequency and that is The Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion, an action role-playing game that transports you to the digital continent of Tamriel, where, because of open game play, you can fight badies, steal stuff, read books, and run about the breathtaking countryside collecting mushrooms to your heart’s content. To me, Oblivion is the digital equivalent to one of George Eliot’s fine Victorian novels. All of the quests, both main and side, are fine pieces of storytelling that examine morality, human psychology, and religion. And your character’s choices (good, evil, neutral) change their personalities and your gaming experience (so George Eliot!).

So, with a cup of tea by my side, I turned on my PS3, created a new character (I’m really into Dunmers at the moment), started to play…and immediately died before reaching the first real “save point” in the dungeon quest tutorial.

I have played this game before.

I have played this game before. Many, many times.

I always get out of the dungeon without dying.

Apparently not this time.

Feeling like a right regular noob, I went back into the kitchen, fixed myself another cup of tea, and tried the level again. This time, I made it out of the dungeon and onto the next level of gameplay with ease.

Though I’m grateful that no one was in the apartment to see my first epic fail, complete with rabidly enthusiastic dog-sized rats and dark-ass dungeon tunnels, this series of events from sucktastic noobery to competent gamerness reminded me of why, on a meta level, I enjoy playing video games like Oblivion: they teach me to be patient with my learning process while encouraging me to make mistakes.

I started playing video games as a teenager because of my brother (he had to have some way to get me back for all the Jane Austen I made him read). I was horrible at them. Hand eye coordination is not a natural gift of mine. And just like the mean girls at school, who made fun of me for reading Shakespeare and wearing glasses, video games made me, a 4.0 student and a perfectionist, feel stupid and inadequate.

But, no matter how stupid and inadequate I felt playing video games with my brother, I could always go back to the main menu, and try the level I bombed again. And the second, third, or even the tenth play through would become much easier. The grace that came in the form of the save button was powerful. It gave me space in my perfectionist world to do something crazy, to take risks. It reminded me that learning something is sometimes a process that matures you through your failures, and what you do after your failures, rather than through your exquisitely executed successes.

And if that thought doesn’t give you hope in a dark-ass dungeon while large rats attempt to gnaw your character’s face off, I don’t know what will.

“The Library site is looking great.” I type, in an e-mail to my website designer. “I was wondering if we could do something more with the background? I’m attaching a few photos that may give it more texture.”

We are currently putting the finishing touches on a new website, for the library I direct. It will help our community members and students access the information in our collection faster. So far, I’m enjoying the task, learning a lot about WordPress and web design as we progress.

The new site is clean, balanced, and modern looking, to mimic the building that surrounds the library’s moderate-sized collection. There are splashes of navy blue, a subtle reminder to the viewer of our Yale affiliation. And, if we can do it, there will be a background, rough, warm, and textured.

I was born in the mid-80s. Unlike the students I now serve (especially the college age ones), I remember a time when computers and smartphones were not primary research tools. I’m old enough to remember that learning, that seeking information, has a sensual experience to it. I know how it feels to hold a book in my hands, slowly slipping my fingertips across the paper’s light, fibered surface as I turn another page and learn another fact.

Though students will visit my site and take in information, clothed in svelte text on a smooth computer screen, there will be something else—a little warmer, a little softer, a little different—going on in the background. Their fingers will not touch fiber, but their eyes will feel the presence of a different sort of texture.

“Icons” is my newest non-fiction. Published in the The Living Church, this little piece is getting a lot of attention. It was even mentioned as a story “worth noting” by AnglicansOnline. The editor writes that:

S.L. Woodford writes in The Living Church (Milwaukee) on death, grief, and text-messages.

And, I do just that. Yet, I cannot think of it as a stand alone piece. In my mind, it will always be linked to something I wrote for Hartford Faith & Values entitled “3:19 A.M.” Both deal with my shock, grief, and yearning for beauty after the unexpected death of my mother. “3:19 A.M.” explores the morning I received the news and “Icons” tells the story of the day after.

Mom’s been dead for five months and I’m deeply glad that I wrote both pieces so soon after her death—each one preserves the hardest, but richest, moments of my life, while setting my love for her as a permanent reality, like a leaf within amber.